Page 12 of Stitched Up in You
“Assist how? What am I supposed to do?” I ask, unsure of what I evencando, or what he is even asking me to do.
“You will do whatever he says,everythinghe says, and you will do it to fix this issue, no matter how long it takes.”
Horror washes over me. What he’s talking about could take forever—months even. “But you can’t do that. I don’t even know how long that will take. You can’t keep me here forever.”
A big blonde brow raises on his face as he moves to open the file in his hand again. He tosses a sheet of something across the table at me, and I move to catch it on instinct, bile rising in my throat when I get a look at the picture shown to me.
My parents, seated at a tiki bar, probably a resort they’re both staying at I would guess from the number of drinks lining the thing and the redness on their faces. They’re looking away from the camera, completely unaware they’re being photographed.
“Oh my god. What do you want with them?” I ask, clutching the picture, nausea rolling through my middle so hard I’m glad I haven’t eaten, because I’m not so sure I would be able to keep anything down.
Frank Stein threatening my parents if I don’t help him? Make it make sense.
“I want nothing to do with them,” he states, as if they’re meaningless to him. “Your family is completely safe, as long as you cooperate.”
“I didn’t even see anything like what you’re talking about. I didnothack your company, it was more like just a nibble. I don't actually have anything on you,” I insist, shrugging my arms and leaning on the edge of my seat, tensing when someone lets out a snicker. “You have to believe me.”
My breaths are coming in heavy pants, and you could hear a pin drop if one fell with how everyone pauses to wait on Frank’s reply, his edict obviously the only one the men will follow.
“What youactually didis now irrelevant, don’t you think, Miss Crenshaw? You broke the law, hacked into my company’s system, and made it vulnerable to attack. You’ve cost me a fortune, and I now own you, until you return what was lost to me, do you understand?” Frank Stein sneers, his face contorting with barely held fury, showing emotion for the first time since I entered the room.
Dread sinks into my insides with each word.
My god, this is a whole nightmare. The richest and most well-known philanthropist in the world kidnapped me and is threatening to hurt my family.
My hands are cold and clammy as I look down at the picture of my parents again and lick my lips. Adrenaline courses through my veins, making my body tight with unease, but I find myself saying, “Fine, but I want my cat.”
Probably not the most appropriate thing to say, but in this instance, Edgar is the only thing I want. I can find a way to get my phone back and let Aubrey know I’m okay.
She’s really the only person now that would even think to check on me, but we lately sometimes go weeks without talking—both of us are busy with life.
Sadness comes over me, and I cling to the thought that at the very least he could have Edgar delivered until I somehow get back whatever it is the other company took. It will be okay.
“Yes, I took the liberty of looking into the whereabouts of your cat. I’m sure I will have no problem delivering Edgar Allan Paw to his mommy, once she gives me every red cent she owes,” Frank says, the sarcasm in his tone cutting like a razor.
I look up and up at his gigantic form, towering over the already tall men in the room as he buttons his suit and runs a hand through his platinum blonde hair. His slate gray gaze meets mine and my stomach flips, nausea threatening rise in my throat.
“I suggest you don’t waste any more of my time, Miss Crenshaw, because from now on, you don’t move without my permission,” he states, like it’s a law now.
Pressure builds in my chest, and I forget to breathe as my stomach hardens at his words. What a sexy dickhole.
Chapter 5
BERNADETTE CRENSHAW
Iwatch from the corner of my eye as he leaves the table, my head lowered and gaze on the floor. I glance over my shoulder to make sure he’s really gone and notice Bruno and Nero haven’t moved from their positions outside the restaurant archway—my new watchdogs it looks like. Just peachy.
Jesus, I really shit the bed this time if this is what I have to look forward to.
My shoulders slump, and the waistband of my yoga pants digs into my waist uncomfortably when I slouch into the seat. The move reminds my body that I have a stomach and haven’t eaten since breakfast this morning, and suddenly, the meal in front of me is mouthwatering.
Before I know it, half of the food on my plate has been demolished, practically inhaled once the first bite melted in my mouth, and I note that whatever Frank is paying his chefs, isn’t nearly enough. I lean back and slap a hand across my round, shirt-covered stomach and rub there. Man, that was good.
“Fat and sassy,” I whisper to myself sarcastically, but genuinely sated for what feels like the first time in months. During one of her mood swings, grandma fired her chef, whichresulted in a lot of takeout. After living off ramen the last two days, this has been a real treat.
I dab at my mouth with a napkin and push away from the table, tossing a leg under myself to get more comfortable. My thoughts rebound to my current predicament.
I never can think on an empty stomach.
